


let’s take this a second at a time

by CamsthiSky



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brainwashing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Trauma, References To The Court of Owls Storyline, Sporadic Updates, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamsthiSky/pseuds/CamsthiSky
Summary: Dick had been missing for nine days. This is the aftermath.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Everyone, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 30
Kudos: 326





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> each chapter is connected but complete, so this is sort of like a one-shot series, but also not?? it’s weird and idk what i’m doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from Guns For Hands by Twenty One Pilots

He’s being stared at. 

To be fair, he’s sure a lot of people are looking at him, seeing as he’s running around a freezing city he can’t remember the name of in nothing but sweats and a ripped up, bloody t-shirt. He at least still has his common sense to tell him that walking around with short sleeves and bare feet in the winter is considered crazy.

Something tells him this city is probably a little too used to crazy.

So yeah, people are looking at him because he seems like a lunatic with so much skin exposed to the cold. But there’s only one person staring. 

The weight of their gaze is heavy on his back, familiar enough to anchor his maze of a mind to his present reality. He doesn’t think it’s malicious. Not like the weight of those stares he’d escaped before. It’s the kind of stare that has his body relaxing with muscle memory and his eyes burning with relief. 

He still knows himself well enough to know that whoever is staring at him, doesn’t mean him any harm. 

So he turns around, tilts his head towards the apartment roof towering six stories above him, and meets the stare head on.

Their eyes lock, his blue connecting with her black, and it lasts for one, two, three—she’s gone.

The alleyway the roof looks over, however, holds a moving shadow. 

He follows.

* * *

The alley is colder than the street, and shivers wrack his body. He wonders, briefly, if this is a waste of time. 

Then—

“We were worried. About you.”

He flinches. Whirls around, eyes wide, heart in his throat.

Behind him. There should only be the street. But the voice—it came from—

—a girl. 

No. A  _ mask _ .

His vision tilts sideways, and he can’t remember how lungs work. He chokes, gasps. Tries to breathe in through numb lips as his head floats farther and farther away from his body.

The mask, it’s—hungerthirsthurt, painpain _ pain _ —

His throat is raw and it burns. He strikes out, tries to physically push the terror away before clutching at his throat, desperate to make the pain disappear—but if the agony goes, then so does the bat, so he has to hold on, hold on because Bruce is  _ coming _ . He’s coming to save him and all he has to just  _ hold on. _

_ Don’t you dare give up, Grayson. _

Fingers squeeze his jaw, and force his head up to stare into the—not a mask. He’s looking right into the girl’s scared, black eyes. The mask is out of sight, only a hood to shadow her face from onlookers at a distance. 

“Sorry,” she says, her fingers slowly falling from his face. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

His face is free and somehow he’s ended up on his knees, the girl kneeling in front of him. She looks worried.

Consoling her is something that part of his brain is nagging him to do, but the other part is still trying to steady his breathing, so all he can do is shake his head slowly, hoping it’ll be enough to reassure the girl.

She doesn’t look any less scared, but at least there’s feeling coming back to his lips.

“Dick,” she says, her voice full of too many emotions to sift through.

Too bad he can’t control the flinch that comes the moment the name leaves her lips. Memories rise up. What he thinks is his own voice, echoing against the endless walls that surround him. 

_ —Hold on, hold on, you’re not Richard, you’re Dick, so hold  _ on _ , you gotta hold on _ —

He forces them down. Away. Anywhere but from the forefront of his mind. 

The girl seems lost for words as she looks him up and down, careful not to touch him again. He doesn’t have any words for her, either. He doesn’t know if he has any words for  _ anyone _ .

There’s a sort of determination in the girl’s eyes as she continues to stare at him. 

“I can take you somewhere else,” she tells him, offering him her small gloved hand.It relieves him that she doesn’t move to reach for him. “Somewhere safe.”

Frustration builds up inside of him. He doesn’t know this girl, and yet she seems so familiar. He’s freezing and he wants to be inside and warm, but also the last time he’d been inside, he’d barely been able to keep a hold of who he is.

In fact, he’s not too sure he even totally succeeded in  _ that _ .

He wants to go with her. But he doesn’t. He’s scared that trusting her will turn out just like the maze. But he’s tired. And the girl is warm, and his freezing mind, body, and soul crave that warmth like nothing else. Her eyes, her gaze, it’s familiar. 

He thinks that maybe, just maybe, she could lead him back. Or—at least, she could be the start. 

So despite it all, despite barely even remembering who he is, Dick Grayson stares into the eyes of the girl dressed in black and yellow, and he decides to take the leap. 

He’s always been good at jumping, and when Dick takes her hand, Cassandra is there to catch him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter one over-protective dad that can read his son like a book

“Where is he?” Bruce demands the moment he slides through Jason’s apartment window.

For his credit, Jason doesn’t even snap at him. He glowers, which Bruce can hardly pay attention to at the moment, and when Jason doesn’t move fast enough, Bruce is storming towards the guest bedroom. The room with the door closed.

“Wait,” Jason says, grabbing his arm and tugging. Bruce slows down, but he doesn’t stop. 

“Son of a clipboard, will you wait a goddamn second so I can tell you important things so you don’t scare him to death.”

Bruce freezes in place, scowling. He snaps out a, “I’m waiting.”

“Fuck you, you dirty microwave,” Jason says, like he needed to get that out of the way. “He’s not—not completely right in the head.”

Bruce grinds his teeth. “And what does that mean.” It’s not a question.

“Cowl off,” Jason orders, not backing down even a little. There’s fierce protectiveness in his eyes, reflecting Bruce’s own desire to find his son and protect him from this whole situation. “He’s not—we don’t know what’ll set him off, and faces have been fine. Masks haven’t been. He nearly took Cass’s head off before she showed him her face.”

Bruce’s insides feel like they’re shriveling with every word. With every second he’s standing out here in Jason’s living room. Every second he’s not in the guest bedroom. He takes off the cowl.

“What else.”

“Don’t call him by his name,” Jason says lowly. “He can’t—He doesn’t—like it. I don’t know why. Didn’t ask.”

Bruce waits a second. Jason steps aside.

He’s at the door before he can stop himself. He knocks. It takes exactly four seconds for Barbara’s voice to softly call out, “Come in.”

Bruce opens the door, slowly, and inside, he finds Barbara in her wheelchair, in front of the bed. Cass is standing in the corner. Jason stands behind him as Bruce walks into the room.

Dick is sitting on the bed, eyes staring blankly down at the wood floor.

He looks so lost, that it has a lump forming in Bruce’s throat, and he’s kneeling on the ground in front of his son—the son that’s been missing for more than a week—and reaching out hesitantly. He doesn’t touch, though. Not yet.

“I missed you,” Bruce says, his voice pitched low, but gentle, soothing. Dick flinches anyways. Doesn’t look at Bruce. But at least he’s listening. “I’ve been looking for you for nine days. I’m glad Cass found you.”

“I—” Dick’s voice cracks, and it looks like Dick’s going to cry right then and there. He’s still not looking at Bruce. Barbara and Jason startle, so this might be the first Dick’s tried to speak since they found him. “I don’t know what’s going on. It’s all gone.”

Bruce doesn’t falter. “Can I touch you?”

Dick doesn’t answer. His shoulders shake.

“Dick.” Flinches. But doesn’t shy away. Jason had been wrong. It wasn’t his name that Dick didn’t like. “Can I touch you? I would like to hug you.”

Swallowing, Dick nods, crumpling forward into Bruce’s outstretched arms. Bruce keeps them steady as he lowers them to sit fully on the wood floor. Dick buries his face in Bruce’s chest. Breathes in the Batman suit, like he’s trying to make it familiar.

“What’s gone, Dick?” Bruce asks as gently as he can.

“Don’t remember,” Dick whispers thickly. “But they took it. Just—not this.” Dick touches the Batman emblem printed across Bruce’s chest. He finally, finally looks Bruce in the eyes, and those bright blue eyes are so horribly fragile, and yet somehow, so strong. “I wouldn’t let them take this. I  _ couldn’t _ let them take this.”

“You did so good,” Bruce tells him, palming the back of Dick’s head and guiding it back to his chest, keeping his eldest close to him. Around them, three others of his family look on sadly. “You did so, so good, Dick. Let us help you, yeah?”

Dick shudders. “Yeah.”

He’s going to fix this, Bruce thinks. He’s going to fix this, and he’s never going to let this happen again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is overwhelmed. Jason is an ass. And Dick keeps panicking.

Tim is tired.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, slumping against the wall outside of Jason’s apartment. There’s a desperation in his voice that he doesn’t care about hiding. He’s too strung out, too mentally strained to even try.

_ “Is he still not sleeping?” _ Barbara asks, her voice on the phone quiet in his ear.

Tim swallows past the lump in his throat. “The longest he’ll sleep for is, like, twenty minutes.”

Barbara sighs.  _ “At least that’s an improvement,” _ she says.  _ “He wasn’t sleeping at all a few days ago.” _

“It’s still not enough.”

_ “I know.” _

Neither of them say anything for a few moments. They stew in the silence Barbara’s voice left between them, and Tim tries not to think about the worst case scenario. Tries to logic agaqinst his own thoughts, but  _ fuck _ , is it hard.

He’s so tired.

_ “How’s Jason?” _ Babs asks, breaking the tentative quiet.

“Fine,” Tim says, bitterness souring his voice. “He’s completely fine.”

_ “Tim.” _ Somehow she makes Tim’s name sound like a sigh. Tim doesn’t like the lump that forms in his throat at the sound of it.

“Jason’s an ass.”

_ “He’s always been an ass,” _ Barbara says. 

She sounds tired, too. This isn’t only affecting him. It’s driving them all to the brink of exhaustion, and he doesn’t think that this is going to be able to go on this way for much longer. Eventually, something is going to crumble under the strain they’re shouldering, and Tim hopes that it doesn’t turn out to be the  _ people _ .

He’s kind of wishing it’ll be Jason’s window, if he’s being honest. Jason is  _ such _ an ass.

“He doesn’t have to be an ass around Dick, though,” Tim murmurs, scowling at the door across from Jason’s. “He’s already under a lot of stress, and Jason’s just making it worse.”

Barbara hums.  _ “And Cass?” _

“Still the only one that Dick will let within five feet of him besides Bruce.”

There’s the sound of typing.  _ “Well, she was the one that found him. And she’s been through something similar. It makes sense that she knows how to get through to him.” _

“Yeah,” Tim sighs. “It would help more if she would stay for more than ten minutes, though.”

_ “She’s scared,” _ Babs tells him.

Tim blinks, clenching the phone tighter. Incredulously, he asks, “Of Dick?”

_ “Maybe,” _ Babs says, but she doesn’t sound completely convinced.  _ “Could be a number of things.” _

“So what do we do?”

_ “Keep trying.” _

“But Cass—”

_ “Will figure things out in her own way,” _ Babs says.  _ “And if she doesn’t, she’ll go to someone for help. It’s how she works.” _

“Cass asks for help?” Tim wonders, exhausted brain latching onto the new topic eagerly. He’s tired of worrying about Dick. He’s tired of getting no sleep at night. He’s tired of waking up to his nightmares that aren’t his own.

_ “Now she does,” _ Barbara tells him, sounding amused.  _ “Bruce and I spent a lot of time getting her to that point, though.” _

“Huh,” Tim says, blinking rapidly as his brain tries to line up the image of his ass-kicking sister who seems to never be afraid of anything or anyone with the picture Babs is trying to paint him. It doesn’t quite work.

_ “She doesn’t express her emotions well verbally,” _ Babs says, “ _ but neither do you. Everyone has their own way of doing things, and Cass has gotten to a point where she’s able to healthily express hers.” _

Tim makes a face. “I’m not sure that fighting criminals and insane clowns is healthy in any way.”

Tim can practically hear Barbara’s eye roll.  _ “Healthi _ er _.” _

“Whatever you say.”

_ “Tim.” _

“I’m not arguing with you.”

_ “If Jason’s an ass, then you’re a dweeb.” _

Tim squawks in offense. “I’m not a dweeb! I’m  _ not _ a dweeb.”

_ “Whatever you say,”  _ Babs mocks.

“Hey, that’s my—”

Jason takes that moment to interrupt, the door only open enough for his head to pop out into the hallway. There’s a scowl on his face, twisting his lips unpleasantly. He looks irritated—which probably isn’t saying much, considering Jason  _ always _ seems to be irritated. At least, always around Tim.

Dick now, too.

“ _ Hey,” _ Jason growls. “Get in here.”

“What?” Tim snaps out.

“I need your help, you twerp,” Jason bites back. “Dick’s havin’ another fit.”

_ Shit. _

“Shit.” Tim pushes off the wall and follows Jason into the apartment. “Babs, I gotta go. Will you send Cass or Bruce over here? We might need some help.”

“Got it.” And with that, the line cuts off. And Tim’s left with Jason crouched about six feet from the corner of his kitchen, where Dick’s shoved himself into, armed with a knife, a frown, and furrowed brows.

Dick’s eyes are glazed, too. He looks more out of it than usual, and Tim’s heart clenches as he slowly makes his way into the kitchen, trying not to startle Dick with any sudden movements.

Dick pays him no attention. His gaze is straight ahead, looking through Jason. He’s clutching the handle of the kitchen hard enough that his knuckles turn white with the effort, and Tim hates to think what’ll happen if Dick throws it. 

Tim doesn’t think either him or Jason will be able to dodge in time. Bruce hadn’t been able to the first time it happened, after all.

“Hey, Dickie,” Jason says, keeping his voice soft. The only other sounds are the noise from the TV filtering into the kitchen and Dick’s quick and shallow breathing. Jason pays no attention to either, and instead raises his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “Hey, can you look at me, Dick? It’s Jason. I brought Tim in with me, and all we want to do is help you.”

Dick doesn’t respond. But that’s not even a little bit surprising seeing how since they’d gotten him back, he never responds.

He does lick his lips, though, eyes flicking between Jason and Tim nervously, still unfocused. Tim barely dares to breathe. They don’t move closer either, even as Dick grabs at his loose t-shirt—still way,  _ way _ too loose on him when it had fit perfectly not even a month ago. They’d learned the hard way not to touch him, though, after thinking Dick couldn’t breathe when he’d tugged like that.

It hadn’t been pretty. Tim’s pretty sure the bite marks will scar.

Dick’s breath hitches and he tenses. Tim and Jason try to stay relaxed as possible, but still alert enough to move if they need to.

“Dick,” Jason calls, somehow even softer than before, and yet, he still doesn’t lose that gruff quality to it that makes his voice so very  _ Jason _ . “Hey, you spork, I need you to talk to me. We can play  _ yes or no _ , if that’s better. Nod or shake your head. Is that okay?”

A moment and then—Dick nods. It’s short and jerky, but it’s a nod.

“Okay, cool.” Jason blows out a big breath. “‘s alright if Timmy comes over here with us?”

Nod. Yes.

Tim slowly lowers himself to the floor next to Jason. Dick doesn’t react.

“Do you need me or Tim to do anything?”

No.

“Are you sure?” Jason’s eyebrows furrow.

Yes.

“Do you want us to call someone else?”

No.

“Dick….” Jason trails off, looking truly concerned. 

And Tim feels it, too, because Dick still looks  _ so _ out of it, and he’s still pale and he can’t breathe and he’s clammy and there’s sweat soaking his clothes and he’s still tugging on his  _ damn shirt _ , tugging with all of his might. Tim’s genuinely afraid the fabric will rip.

“We can call Bruce,” Tim says, even though he’s told Babs to do that already. Dick hesitates, blinking rapidly as he settles his gaze back on Tim. Tim keeps going, “We can call Bruce, and he’ll be here within ten minutes, I’m sure. If that’ll help.”

Dick looks stricken. Tim hates it.

Finally, after far too long, Dick nods, eyes screwed up, like he’s on the edge of tears, and Tim nods back, whipping out his phone and texting Babs as he tries his best not to dissolve into tears, too.

Tim doesn’t get it. Well—logically, he understands the fundamentals of PTSD and he understands that there’s not a lot of room for logic in a brain full of trauma. But specifically, Tim can’t figure out Dick’s trauma. He can’t figure out why they’re tip-toeing around someone who he used to tackle for piggyback rides.

He just—He doesn’t understand. Can’t make himself understand why everything is so different, so messed up. It hasn’t even been a four days since they’ve found Dick and everything is just getting  _ more _ messed up.

Tim hates it.

He’s pretty sure everyone else hates it, too. Including Dick.

But they have to keep going, because that’s just what they do. Bruce will get here, and Jason and Tim will back off, and Bruce will be the only one who can help talk Dick out of his flashback or panic attack, or whatever is going on with him.

But for now, they have to wait. Stuck right here, six feet away from Dick, who still looks so terrified and still won’t speak to anyone but Bruce. And Tim just  _ hates _ it.

He’s tired.

But he doesn’t see anything changing any time soon.


End file.
